Grey Rain Curtain
by tickledblue
Summary: Breann: arrogant. So when she found herself in ME, she assumed that she would be the best and prettiest warrior EVER. She could sOoO beat Eowyn & Legolas. her words She never expected to be tempted by the Ring. Or be hated by the Fellowship.
1. Stupid People

**Chapter One**

**Stupid People**

"Hey, kid, get off the street!" I snap at a scrawny boy. Honestly, don't kids have common sense at _all_? Streets mean cars, and cars mean accidents. They're so damn stupid! You're not supposed to chase your ball on a busy street no matter how much it means to you (and no matter how much it dried up your piggy bank).

The kid looks at me as if I am going to bite his head off, then scampers back to the sidewalk. Well, that's more I like it. I look at him sharply (he squeaks and pales), then turn and enter my dad's studio. A popular and well-liked one, I must say. My dad's reputation as a martial arts expert is extremely good.

"I'm here," I announce, throwing my shoulder bag aside. I check my reflection in the mirror. Good. My hair isn't messed up. I know how much that girl always stares and admires it. What is her name again? I know it's something like Laura or Laney…

"You're late," Nina says, looking up from her desk.

I scowl. "I am aware of that, _thank_ _you_."

She rolls her eyes. "Just hurry up," she snaps. "The class has already started. And it's a big one, so your father needs a lot of assistance."

"All right," I mutter, and make my way to the gym. Once I am there, I see more people than usual, watching my dad fight with Carlos, one of the instructors. Obviously Dad wins in the end, and everyone cheers and applauds like some awestruck audience. I roll my eyes and approach them haughtily.

Dad catches sight of me and raises an eyebrow. "Ah, Breann. How nice of you to come," he says.

They all turn simultaneously and look at me. The new students look curious, while the old students look petrified. I raise my eyebrow at all of them (it's always fun to intimidate people in their mere blue belts or whatnot), then shrug at my dad.

"Traffic," I say dully, even though it's not true.

"All right," he replies. "You take the ones with yellow belt and below."

Great. Stuck with the beginners. I resist the urge to groan out loud. I do succeed, though I know the look on my face is not of delight. I see my students exchange pure looks of terror, which gives me _some _pleasure. It's always fun to be the superior one.

"Form a line quickly," I bark. They literally jump and scurry to their places. They do it in no time at all, but that is a small accomplishment, so I don't bother complimenting them.

A couple of minutes later (and many stingy remarks later), I am about to lose my sanity. _Why _can't the moves stick in their idiotic brains? They are so simple! And _why _did my good ol' father assign me with these…these…_simpletons_? He knows better than to assign me with anyone below brown belt.

From the corner of my eye, I notice that girl, that Laura or Laney girl, staring at me a_gain_. I turn abruptly, and she jumps and blushes furiously as I gaze sharply at her.

"What can I do for you, Laura?" I say impatiently.

"Loreen," she whispers.

"Loreen," I correct myself irritably, "can I help you with something?"

She shakes her head. "N-no."

"Then go back and practice."

She nods vigorously. "O-okay."

I wish I could tell you that the rest of the two hours flew by quickly, but they didn't. They felt long and dull and tiresome. I was jumping with joy when it was over. Well, not really, but you know what I mean. The only fun moment was when I fought Greg (one of the instructors) for the demonstration and beat the crap out of him. A good thing, too. Maybe now that pervert will learn to stop with his…_advances_.

Dad and I drove home in our own cars. When we reached home, I began to cook dinner (of course I would be the one doing it: the only thing Dad can do is boil water). After doing so, I set the table quickly and announced that dinner was ready. Then the whole family came and sat in their respective seats. And when I say whole family, I mean my dad and me.

"Why did you assign me with the beginners today?" I say bitterly during the meal.

Dad, chewing thoughtfully, shrugs and says, "I decided it was time."

I raise an eyebrow. "Time for _what_?" I demand.

"Time for you to learn how to be patient," he replies. "And friendly. Not to mention humble."

I stare disbelievingly at him. Then I lose all composure. "**_Patient?!_****_ Friendly?! Humble?!"_** I screech, ignoring his wince. "**I _am _patient, friendly, and humble!**"

He looks at me in a funny way, as if he finds my comment (naivety, maybe) rather amusing. "No, you're not," he replies. "You're impatient, rude, and arrogant."

"Who says?" I say with a fierce glare.

"Everybody."

"Oh, shut _up_! They don't know a _thing_ about me!"

"That's exactly what I mean, Breann. You have an attitude," he says sternly. "You have to change if you want people to at least _tolerate _you. For God's sake, you're already nineteen!"

I hurl my napkin on the table and glare at him. "Whatever," I say venomously. I then leave the table with my meal unfinished. He can clean up himself, for all I care.

Fuming, I march to my bedroom and slam the door shut. How _dare _he tell me I have an attitude! I do _not _have an attitude! What a scumbag! Still fuming, I stomp over to my bathroom, turn on the faucet, and splash icy water on my face. It feels refreshing, since I am _literally_ boiling.

After drying my face, I look at my reflection.

Ugh. Sometimes being so damn pretty is such a curse. I won't deny that I'm pretty. Do you even _know_ how many guys check me out wherever I go? _Countless_. It can be frustrating sometimes, you know. Why won't they get it through their thick skulls? I AM NOT INTERESTED. I have been with many guys, and I have come to the conclusion that _no one_ is good enough for me. They're all jerks. I am too good for them.

I pick up my brush and begin my daily activity of doing 100 strokes. My hair is one of my best features. It's long and wavy, but not frizzy. (Me, with frizzy hair? Heh. I _don't_ think so.) It's the colour of autumn. Everybody loves my hair.

My eyes…now _they _are my best features. They are an icy, icy blue. I _love_ staring people down with them, because they _never_ fail to intimidate. Ever. And I don't think they will ever fail, thank you very much. My eyes have this…sharpness in them.

After scrutinizing every bit of myself in the mirror and deeming myself unchanged (no wrinkles, blemishes, and whatnot), I go back into my room, pop in _Fellowship of the Ring_, and plop down on my bed.

I snort derisively when the gorgeous Arwen appears to save Frodo. "What a part stealer."

I roll my eyes when Legolas shoots an orc right on the forehead. "I can do _better_ that."

I scoff when Galadriel descends down the stairs. "I am soooo prettier than her."

I sneer when Boromir has trouble fighting the orcs. "Come on, it's just a couple of measly orcs. _I _can crush them without getting scathed."

In general, I think all three movies are good. (If they aren't, I wouldn't bother watching them, would I?) I like the story. And I also like watching the battle scenes and criticizing moves. There are a lot of faults, of course. After all, they're only _actors_. They're not supposed to know _real _martial arts.

The books are good as well. Sometimes they have too much detail, but they're still good. And for the love of God, _why _was Arwen given the part of rescuing Frodo? I cannot believe _Glorfindel_ was left out! Even Asfaloth was given to Arwen!

I can soooo kick Arwen's ass.

* * *

I enter my dad's studio earlier than usual the next day. I slip in quietly, which makes all the difference. 

Because it doesn't alert Nina of my presence, who is talking about me.

"Can you believe that Breann girl?" she whispers. "She is so arrogant! Her head is so big that she _should_ have trouble walking through a doorway. She struts around as if she owns the place."

"Well, she kind of does," someone whispers back. "Her dad owns this studio."

Well, if it isn't oh-so-lovable Saige. Saige, whose black belt is two degrees below mine. Saige, who is taking up Law. Saige, who is Little Miss Oh-Look-At-Me-I'm-Super-Perfect-I-Look-For-The-Good-In-Everybody-I'm-Never-Angry-Because-I'm-Very-Soft-Hearted-I'm-So-Approachable-Because-I'm-Super-Friendly. Ugh, I hate her. Her and her stupidly silky black hair. Her and her oh-so-gorgeous amber eyes. Yes, that's right. _Amber_. A-M-B-E-R. Never heard of it? Well, you have now. And yes, it's a very rare eye colour.

And she acts like she's sooooo angelic. Everybody looooves Saige. Everybody looks up to dear old Saige. Have you ever gotten angry at Saige? Of course _not_. There's _no_ such thing. Because she's so damn _sweet_.

"We shouldn't be talking about other people like this," she whispers with that _adorable_ voice of hers.

See what I mean? I snort quietly and roll my eyes.

"You're _too _good sometimes, Saige," Nina replies scathingly. "You can't talk trash about anybody. Well, _I _can. Breann's a mega bitch. Enough said. She thinks she's so pretty. She always looks at anything that shows her reflection. Hell, I even saw her looking at herself with the back of a spoon once."

I frown. What the hell is wrong with that? I needed to see if my hair was okay.

"Well," Saige says uncomfortably, "she _is_ pretty."

"Not _that _pretty," Nina retorts. "You're way prettier than her, Saige. Way prettier. She's nothing compared to you."

I clench my fists unconsciously. How DARE she? What is wrong with Nina's damn lunatic brain? I would beat her up if I hadn't sworn to my dad thirteen years ago that I'd only use my skills for self-defense. Ugh! Bee-oooootch.

She's just jealous. She just wants to look like me, that's all. Her and her dull green eyes and oily mud-brown hair. Yes…she's jealous. I'm a perfect ten compared to _her_.

I step in and announce my presence. Both girls whirl around, looking like deer caught in the headlights. Saige blushes quickly and murmurs a silent hello. Nina just stares at me with those dull green eyes of hers. I raise an eyebrow and gaze sharply at her, with every intention to make her feel inferior.

Which works. She pales slightly and casts her eyes down.

I fling my bag aside violently—both cringe a bit—and make my way to the gym.

* * *

I was doing an intense and complicated exercise in the gym when Saige approached me, clearly looking nervous. I ignore her completely and continue doing my exercise pattern. 

"Um…Breann?"

_Swish swish whoosh swish. _Isn't she scared that I'll stab her with one of the knives I'm waving _dangerously _around?

"Breann? Can I please talk to you for a minute?"

Oh, well, since she said the magic word…yes, note the sarcasm.

"Breann, _please. _Can we talk?"

Won't this girl take a damn _hint_?! She seems so set on having a stupid conversation! She obviously won't be going away soon, so I answer her, though grudgingly.

"_What?_" I say irritably, not stopping the exercise.

"I need to talk to you. Can we go out for some…coffee…maybe?"

I stop my workout and wheel around. "_What?_" I ask sharply. No, she did _not _just invite me for coffee as if we are…_friends_. Just…_no_.

She shifts nervously from one foot to the other. "Coffee," she says. "Let's go out for coffee."

Okay, she did, _apparently_.

"Why?" I ask flatly.

"_Please_," she says, with a beseeching expression in those oh-so-gorgeous _amber _eyes of hers. "It won't take long."

"Fine," I reply roughly. "Two minutes. That's it."

Her eyes _literally _brighten up. "All right!" she says _giddily_. (Is it really possible to have that much happiness in one person? There's so much of it that it's actually depressing. If that makes sense.) "Two minutes will be just fine."

I roll my eyes and brush past her. She follows. We enter the coat room and don our winter coats. (Hers is a long and sophisticated one with fur around the neck. It doesn't surprise me. And the fur is obviously fake. This is _Saige_ we are talking about.) I finish first; I go out and cross the street without waiting for her. After all, she knows the way.

When she entered the coffee shop, I was already seated at one of the black circular tables, with my arms and legs crossed. I nod curtly when she takes the seat across from me.

"Hi," she says with a smile.

I shoot her a steely look and say nothing. Her smile falters a bit, but it stays. Bravo. I mentally applaud her for being unwilling to show that she is frightened. Too few people can do that.

"So…what kind of coffee do you want?" she says, shifting awkwardly.

"I already ordered," I answer listlessly.

"Oh." She shifts again. "Okay. Anyway, I…um…wanted to talk to you about what happened."

I narrow my eyes at her. "What are you talking about?"

"Earlier today, when you overheard Nina and me talking…"

"Forget it," I cut in, looking at her stonily. "I don't care about what people think of me."

"But I want to apologize," she replies. "It was wrong of us to talk about you like that. I'm sorry, Breann."

I lean back and stare at her coolly. She fidgets, but maintains eye contact with me, unlike most people, who would have bowed their head by now. I smirk. "Let me guess," I say sardonically. "You're apologizing to me because you can't _bear_ having this feeling of guilt inside you, knowing that you have done something wrong and could have _possibly _hurt someone's feelings."

She looks confused by my sour comment. "Well…um…yes…"

I smile dryly. Saige, Saige, Saige. Saige Henderson. Saige the Angel. Always doing the right thing. Can't bear the thought of being one to cause papin.

I lean forward. "Look, _Saige_," I begin through gritted teeth, "I—"

"Laaadiesssss," interrupts a shrill yet manly voice, "a word with you…?"

Saige and I turn simultaneously. We see a man standing before us, grinning like a total idiot. He is swaying a bit from side to side (what a psycho), and is wearing a grimy brown trench coat with large rips and holes on it. A dirty beard is hiding his thin, tanned face. How revolting! Why was he allowed to enter this clean and sophisticated coffee shop?

Saige is _obviously_ looking at him in a kind way. "Can we help you?" she says with that disgustingly sweet voice of hers.

His grin grows wider, revealing his crooked yellow teeth. "I have something for you both," he says, bowing deeply.

I scowl and pointedly edge away from him. He doesn't notice.

Saige looks at him interestedly. "What is it?"

The man laughs an insane laugh, digs his filthy hand in his filthy pocket, and produces something from it. Smiling toothily, he holds out his closed hand, making me back away even more. I glare at him, which he doesn't notice.

When he opened his hand, I was surprised to find what was inside.

Two silver rings. Two _beautiful _silver rings. The moment I saw them, they reminded me of that ring Aragorn always wore, except these rings had a diamond-like stone. The resemblance, however, was incredible.

"Wow," Saige says breathlessly. "They're beautiful."

"They're for you two," the man says giddily. I look intently at him, suspicion evident on my face. Is he drunk? Is he high? It _does_ seem like it. Why on earth would he _give _something so beautiful? Wait a minute…

"They're stolen," I say flatly.

The man starts, then scowls at me. "Nooooope." He shakes his head vigorously. "Nopee nope nope. Not stolen."

"Then where did you get them?"

"From the ground," he replies simply.

I look at him disgustedly. "He's high, Saige," I tell my quiet companion. "He's not making any sense."

"I am making peeeeerfect sense!" he retorts. He stumbles a bit, but regains footing. "I _digged_ this out of the ground! From _Europe_. Aren't you proud of me?"

Before I could word out my sarcastic reply, a tall man wearing a green apron approaches the table. A stern and disapproving look is on his face. "Sir," he says to our ragged guest, "I'm afraid you're going to have to leave this place. _Now_."

Our dear old guest scowls. "But I don't wanna leave," he whines.

Tall Man reaches out and grasps him firmly by the arm. "I'll show you out," he says gruffly, and begins to drag our guest outside.

"Nooooo!" he cries. "I don't wanna leeeeaaave!" His eyes look glazed as Tall Man shows him out the door. And when his eyes suddenly meet mine, _something _flashes in them, and he shouts, "Here, girl! Catch!"

He throws the rings. I catch them out of impulse. The gemstones are very smooth and shiny, and when they are held up in the light, the colours of the rainbow sparkle. They are so…so…mesmerizing.

When I look back up, he is no longer in sight.

"Well," Saige says, breaking the silence, "that was…odd."

"I don't understand why he wants us to have these," I say, looking down at the rings.

Saige leans forward. "They're beautiful," she murmurs, gazing dazedly at them. "They look like Aragorn's ring."

I shoot her a piercing look. "You've seen Lord of the Rings?"

She smiles. "Seen _and_ read."

I raise an eyebrow, then shrug. "Here," I say coldly, "one is for you. Apparently."

She nods and accepts it in a numb state. She plays with it and whispers, "I don't understand why…"

"I know," I cut in impatiently. "It doesn't make sense, but frankly, I don't care any more. Bye." I stand up abruptly and begin to make my way to the exit.

"Breann…wait!"

I turn back around. "As I said before, _Saige_," I say frostily, "your apology is completely unnecessary. I meant what I said. I _don't_ care about what people think of me."

I shoot her an icy look, then walk away, ignoring the stares people are giving me.

* * *

After doing my 100 strokes, I prepare for bed. Since it is laundry day the next day, most of my good clothes are in the hamper. Therefore, I have to settle with wearing the _hideous_ flannel pajamas Aunt Celeste gave me three years ago: bright green with wide orange stripes. Ugh. I think she's colour blind. 

I'm still not talking to my dad, and I don't care. He's a jerk, anyway. For all I care, he can go and leave me alone forever. I'd be better off without him.

I go to my bathroom and put on a dark green overnight facial mask. (So _what_ if I obsess over my skin?) Then I go back to my room and put on my very warm purple socks with Tigger on them. It's always cold in my room during the night.

As I am brushing my hair one last time by my vanity table, the silver ring catches my eye. I pick it up and stare at it closely. What makes it so hypnotizing? Is it the glint of the oval gemstone? No…it's not _just_ that. There's _something _about the ring in general…

I slip it on. The ring fits _perfectly _on my index finger. I hold up my hand and admire it. It isextremely beautiful, actually. The most beautiful ring I have ever laid my eyes on. And it's so…ancient-looking, which adds more to its wonder.

I slip under my covers, still wearing the ring. For some reason, I don't want to take it off. I feel as if it _belongs_ on my finger. I wonder if Saige feels the same way…?

Saige the Glorious Angel. Dear ol' gorgeous Saige, whose natural beauty, many people say, portrays thevery meaning ofelegance. Saige, who stupid guys stare dreamily at whenever they enter the studio. Saige, who (others say) would have been a _perfect _representation of an Elf in the Lord of the Rings movies.

I roll my eyes and shake all thoughts of her out of my head.

I fall asleep in no time at all. Because of this, I do not see the gemstone of my ring start to radiate beams of white-gold light…


	2. Sent Where?

A/N:

Thank you so much for your reviews! You guys rock!

**Chapter Two**

**Sent Where?**

It's freezing. Why on _earth _is it freezing? Okay, I know that my room is cold during the night, but not _this _cold. And _why_ does my bed feel so…hard? And where's my pillow? I seem to be lying on something…crunchy.

I open my eyes grudgingly. The very first thing I see is a bunch of…bare trees? Huh.

I'm dreaming. That's the only logical explanation for this. Unless I got kidnapped sometime during the night, then brought…here. In the middle of what seems like nowhere…wait! Maybe I sleepwalked! That _is_ possible, right? People can sleepwalk for miles and miles, right? Because it doesn't seem like I'm in the city anymore…

Okay, enough thinking.

I get up and rub my head. A cold gust of wind blasts through me, and I feel a heavy chill. I shiver and rub my arms vigorously. I can feel large goose bumps on them. I may be wearing thick flannel pyjamas, but they are not enough.

I'm outside. How on _earth_ did I get outside? Frowning deeply, I get up and observe my surroundings.

It turns out that I am in a forest, near the outskirts. Piles and piles of dead brown leaves cover the hard ground.

Wait—what? I'm in a forest? Near the outskirts! How did I get here! What is going on! Okay, okay. Just _breathe_. Breeeeaaathe…

In. Out. In. Out.

_Not _helping. Crap, I think I'm starting to hyperventilate.

Relax, Breann. Just relax…think of something…um…relaxing…?

I'm dreaming. No matter how cold I am, I _must _be dreaming! Stupid me! I bet my brain is just tricking my body into thinking that it's cold, when it's actually not! Of _course_! That makes perfect sense. I'm just dreaming…

I grin maniacally and start to walk, which is unfortunate for my purple Tigger socks. After all, I am wearing no shoes. Poor socks! I'm going to have to wash them really, really well. They _are _precious to me, you know. Preciousssss…

…what is _wrong _with me! Argh! I think it's the air in this dream forest. It's _unnatural_! Why? Well, probably because it's too _fresh_. Of all the fresh airs I have breathed in my life, I have never encountered air that is _this _fresh before…_not_ that I go around places in search for the freshest air. I'm just saying that the air is _too_ fresh…and I know I just said that three seconds ago, but…it's too perfect, you know…? Yes, I know I'm rambling…

_Why _is an arrow being pointed at me? And _why _is the most beautiful creature in the world currently standing before me, holding said arrow?

The world works in mysterious ways.

I raise an eyebrow, in response to his icy glare. Why he is glaring at me in the first place, I do not know. Why he's pointing an arrow at me, I do not know either. However, I _do _know that I do not like it one bit. Not at _all._

"Who are you?" he demands with a hard voice, which triggers my scowl. How DARE he talk to me and look at me like that! He may be beautiful, but I will _not _allow such disgusting attitude towards _me_! ME! The _nerve_ of him!

"I'm Breann, who are you?" I reply calmly, contrary to the expression on my face. I am glaring fiercely at him, a glare fierce enough to make a _prince _cower in fear.

It does not, however, work on my present companion. I look at him warily and in disbelief (after all, he was able to withstand my glare) as he tightens his hold on his bow and arrow. His eyes flash angrily, and he narrows them at me.

Hmm…come to think of it, he does look somewhat familiar. An old boyfriend? Nah. I _do_ know that back when I was still in the dating scene, I had always made sure that none of the guys I would go for looked prettier than me. This man before me, unfortunately, is just that…which is very, very, very (x100) rare. After all, I _am _drop-dead gorgeous.

His arrow comes closer to me (almost touching my cheek, actually), and he says with that icy voice of his, "Are you a spy of Saruman?"

I stare at him.

Whaaaaaaaat?

Whaaat?

Whaa…?

I keep staring at him silently, waiting for him to say "GOTCHA!" However, after the expression on his face turns from icy to _really _icy a few seconds later, I shake my head and shoot him a look of true pity. A (really) handsome face wasted on a complete and absolute madman. What is wrong with this world? Why? _Why?_

I clear my throat. "Did you…um…come from somewhere? A large place with white walls with people dressed in…um…white clothes?" I do not want to say the term "mental institution," because who knows if that term might set him off? I do not want him to go crazier than he is now.

The pointy tip of his arrow touches my cheek. "Are you a spy of Saruman?" he repeats with a dangerous voice.

That does it! If he keeps this up, I will _seriously_ beat him up. I obviously can, since I am pretty much among the _best_ in martial arts. I can handle this lunatic with no trouble at all. One more annoying move and he'll get it. I _swear_.

"Point this _thing _somewhere else," I say coldly, swatting the arrow away from my face.

Which makes him angrier. His dark expression darkens even _more_, and he presses the tip of the arrow back on my cheek, this time putting a bit more pressure than before.

If he gives me one _mild _cut, if he draws the teeniest trail of blood, he's dead. I mean it.

"Answer the question."

One remarkable thing about this guy is that he doesn't shout. Every line that comes from his mouth is full of iciness, but very, very composed. And I actually find that more effective than shouting.

"No, I am not a spy of _Saruman_," I reply, just as icily as him. Then I look away and whisper very quietly, "You crazy freak of nature."

Which he hears. And I have no idea how, since I said it very, very, very quietly. This guy must have excellent hearing. Great. That adds more to his abnormality.

"Give me a reason and I will," he threatens with a low tone in his voice.

I stare at him again. Is he _serious_! He actually has the guts to kill? He really must have escaped from a mental institution. Okay, no big deal. I can still handle a mentally unstable person…

As I stand there quietly and stare at him more, the word "psychopath" appears and flashes continuously on his forehead.

Okay, not _really_, but…

"You're coming with me," he says firmly. He is still pointing his stupid arrow at me. "Start walking."

I can beat him up right now if I want to (seriously, I can!), but…nah. Let's see where this leads. If I am actually in danger, I can get myself out easily. Come on! I have a _black belt_. Nothing can stop _me_.

I start walking. He is leading me out the forest, which is perfectly fine by me.

"You know, you look familiar," I say conversationally as I walk forward, with him behind me, still holding his bow and arrow readily should the need to slaughter me arises.

"Silence," he replies coolly. "Do not speak."

I scowl, which he does not see, of course. "I am soooo sorry," I say, my voice dripping with sarcasm. "I did not realize that I am forbidden to make a sound with my vocal chords."

He does not answer. Fine by me.

Jerk.

We are reaching the end of the forest. As I approach the outskirts, the lines of trees thin noticeably, and I see dark specks in the distance. They seem to be people, but I can't be sure. I'm too far away to be sure.

Finally, when I am much nearer, I become sure. They _are _people. There are about ten of them: some are sitting, while others are standing. They look like a group of travellers, for they have heavy packs with them and whatnot.

My footsteps alert some of them. Yes, only _my _footsteps. My captor (and I use that term very loosely, since I can escape anytime I want to) is unnaturally silent at _everything_. I can't even hear him breathe, and I am naught but a metre away.

An old man dressed in grey stares pensively at me while smoking this long pipe, while two men beside him stare at me half-curiously and half-suspiciously. Nearby are four…children? Well, they must be, since they can't be more than four feet. They are huddled in a small circle, and they haven't noticed me yet.

The group looks familiar. I am forming in my mind what they remind me of, but I do not want to think about it, since it is too…odd.

"Who is this that you have brought?" the old man speaks up. His voice sounds…wise. Which kind of doesn't make sense.

Cue the four children's attention being captured, after the old man's little comment. Four curly heads turn simultaneously towards me.

The moment their eyes are upon me, one of them starts to scream.

"What is it, Gandalf?" he shrieks, staring at me in horror. "What is it?"

I am floored for the second time.

Whaaaaaaaaat?

Whaaat?

Whaa…?

_Why _is this kid staring at me as if I'm someone who just resurrected from the dead? Is he a student of my father's studio? Does he know me?

Wait. Wait just one second. Did he just call that old man…Gandalf?

So my suspicion is correct. This is a "Fellowship." Do I happen to be in some sort of play or skit? Am I among a group of people who are too obsessed over _Lord of the Rings _and just _had _to um…re-enact? Am I making any sense?

Am I still dreaming?

I wheel around and gaze at my captor's blue (extremely blue that it's almost unnatural) eyes. He gazes back, not perturbed one bit. In fact, I get this feeling that he's challenging me…how DARE he! The nerve of him! Does he know that I have a _black belt_? He better be careful!

"Let me guess," I say wryly, "Legolas?"

A flicker of surprise appears on his face. After that mere _flicker_, his previous iciness appears, more intense than before. He glares and points his arrow back at me.

"You _are_a spy," he accuses. "How do you know who I am?"

I stare at him. I seem to be doing that a lot. "Because you look like Legolas," I say with a matter-of-fact voice. "And I don't want your head to get big or anything, but you resemble Orlando Bloom."

Confusion appears on his face. "Who?"

"You're taking this role pretty seriously, aren't you?" I tell him. I shoot him an incredulous look, then turn to the others. "So…why are you role playing?"

It is the others' turn to look confused. They glance at each other, then look back at me, wariness perfectly evident on their faces.

Then one of the two men who had been staring at me earlier speaks up. "Are you ill, my lady?"

"She's a lady?" the screamer said dubiously.

I glare at him. "Of course I am!" I snap. "What else do I look like, you dense kid?"

He pales and cowers. Right when he does this, I feel a painful grip on my arm. I turn and find myself staring at the hard glare of Legolas.

"Silence," he says coldly. "You will not be rude to _any_ of these people." He tightens his grip even more and narrows his eyes at me. "Perhaps you should know that my arrow _never_ misses."

I clap and respond with a dry voice. "Good for you."

He glares, but says nothing. I like to think that I won that one. A good thing, too. What an arrogant jerk! I can't believe it is possible to have _that_ much arrogance in one person. He doesn't deserve to be good-looking. And yes, I know that "good-looking" is an understatement (underword?), but…whatever.

Footsteps alert my companions and me. We turn simultaneously and see two people approaching the group. Which doesn't make sense. There are eight members of the "Fellowship" currently present, so the approaching two means ten in all. Who's the other one?

When they are close enough for me to see their faces, I see a very short and stocky man with a disgusting red beard. It is so long and frizzy. Ew.

Seeing the other almost makes me faint, but since I am not the fainting type, I settle with gaping.

Saige.

It is Saige.

Walking with…Gimli?

The moment Saige catches sight of me, her _amber _eyes widen with shock. "Breann?" she says in disbelief. "Is that you!"

"Of course it's me!" I snap irritably. "What else do I look like?"

She suddenly looks uncomfortable. "Um…" She shoots me a sheepish look. "Never mind."

I not-so-subtly roll my eyes, then turn to the guy impersonating Gimli. "So, what it's like to play an old ugly dwarf with poor hygiene?"

He stares at me in shock at first, but after a second or two, he becomes angry. No…not angry. Furious. Livid. Outraged.

"What did you say?" he growls. He raises his axe, ready to chop my head off, no doubt. (Which is no big deal. I can soooo go against a guy with an axe.) "Bring your pretty face to my axe."

"I am pretty, aren't I?" I reply cheekily. "Glad you noticed."

He fumes. Saige immediately steps forward between us. She shoots me a look I don't understand at all. And I won't bother to. It's only Saige, anyway.

"Let's all be calm now," she says firmly. "Breann," she says to me, "I don't think you realize where you are right now."

I look at her incredulously. "Are you daft? I'm dreaming. You're part of this dream somehow."

She stares at me. "Uh…no." She takes a deep breath. "Breann," she begins nervously, "this"—she gestures at the "Fellowship"—"is the _real_ Fellowship."

It is my turn to stare at her. After a long moment of intense silence, I say very coldly, "I don't appreciate it, Saige."

She looks confused. "You don't appreciate what?"

"Fine," I say. "I'll humour your fake innocence." She starts to speak, but I don't give her chance. "I don't appreciate you playing a prank on me," I bark. "Got it? I thought you would have realized by now that I am _not _someone to be trifled with, _Saige_."

"B-Breann," she stammers, "I am not playing a prank on you…"

"**_SHUT UP!_**" I scream. "Everyone else may think that you're this little innocent girl, but _I _know better! You're low, _Saige_! **_Low!_**"

Saige looks ready to cry. Her eyes are all glassy and whatnot. I resist the urge to bring my fist up to her cute little nose. No doubt she's putting up a stupid act to convince the "Fellowship" that I'm the bad guy.

Which works. All of a sudden, "Legolas" jumps forth and grabs my arm again, but way more painfully this time.

And because of this, I begin to fight. I bring my fist to his eye, but he ducks quickly. I then grab his hand on my arm and twist it (a move I learned in yellow belt). I manage to give him _some _pain, but he also manages to get out of it in a second or so.

He is very good. I can't lie about that.

By this time, one of the men (who I am guessing is "Aragorn") has approached to help out his dear old friend. And yes, I do feel great satisfaction in knowing that dear ol' "Legolas" needs some reinforcement to handle _me_. The three of us fight bare-handed, with me using all those years of martial arts training into good use.

I duck, then do a low kick, then roll, then swipe...blah, blah, blah. The important thing to know is that I am doing it all with impressive speed. I am soooo good, if I do say so myself. Glad to know that I'm giving them some trouble.

Unfortunately, that doesn't last long. As I am about to hit Legolas on the gut, I feel a sudden blow on my head.

There is a difference between fainting and getting knocked out, okay?

I did the latter.

* * *

I groan when I feel this throbbing pain at the side of my head. I open my eyes slowly and see a hazy vision of…Saige? Yes. Saige. 

Not a good way to start a day.

Wait…

Why is _Saige_ in _my_ room?

All of a sudden, it all comes back to me. The forest. The arrow. That extremely handsome man. Who turns out to be a Legolas portrayer later on. The fight. The cheap (very cheap) blow on the head.

I am still dreaming, of course. All that is happening is that my brain is telling my body that my head hurts, when it actually doesn't. Stupid brain.

"Are you all right, Breann?" comes Saige's concerned voice.

Oh, for crying out loud. I get up slowly, rub my head, then look at her sharply. "Fine," I say with a dry voice.

"I'm sorry Gimli knocked you unconscious," she said remorsefully. "You were getting…rowdy."

"If I see _Gimli _again, he's dead," I mutter. Right when I say this, I hear a snort (which sounds a lot like a pig stuck under a barbed wire) from behind me. I wheel around.

The whole "Fellowship" is sitting in a messy circle, with their eyes all on me. I catch sight of _Gimli _smirking at me, as if he's overjoyed about the fact of getting the honour of knocking me unconscious.

Stupid git.

Legolas is just doing his usual: staring at me with cold impassiveness. The "hobbits" remind me a lot of Dad's students: terrified and ready to wet their pants. Gandalf still has that pensive (yet wary) look on his face, and the two men are just…there. Also doing some staring.

"Stop looking at me!" I snap angrily.

They don't stop staring. I see Legolas narrow his eyes at me, but maybe it's just my imagination.

Then Saige speaks up. "Um…Gandalf?" she says timidly.

_Gandalf _turns his gaze away from me. When he looks at Saige, his eyes soften in a fatherly way. Disgusting. "Yes, Saige?"

"May I have a private moment with Breann?"

He looks at Saige thoughtfully for a while, then nods. "Very well. But you must bring someone with you. Take Legolas."

"**_No!_**" I say loudly, which makes the hobbits jump. I roll my eyes at them, then shake my head at Gandalf. "Not the…_Elf_. He has freaky hearing. He'll eavesdrop."

"We elves cannot help having excellent hearing," he says dryly. I remain quiet and resist the temptation to point out that he is one overly obsessed _Lord of the Rings _freak. Actually, all of them are.

No, wait, wait. This is just a dream, so why should I care about these obsessed people?

"I'll go," one of the men speak up. I'm guessing it's Boromir, since I have already deemed the other one Aragorn.

Gandalf nods. "Very well. Do not take long."

Saige smiles brightly. (Disgusting.) "We won't."

The three of us set off, with Saige leading the way. We are going to the direction where she and Gimli had come from earlier. I do not question her about our destination. Besides, I'll find out soon enough.

Seconds later and I find myself standing near a stream. Saige smiles at me and gestures friendlily towards the running water. _Why _is she so cheerful? It's so…depressing. I would rather have stayed unconscious if I have to put up with _this_.

"Wash your face," she tells me.

I raise an eyebrow. "Why?" I say flatly.

"Because you have a facial mask on," she replies. "That's why you scared Pippin. And…um…I don't mean to hurt your feelings, but your hair is all messed up."

The look on my face is murderous. I do know that my hair is always messed up when I wake up in the morning, but I do not like being reminded of that, which Saige just did. Ugh. What is _wrong _with her?

And no wonder Pippin screamed. But a stupid green mask still gives you no good reason to screech and wet your pants. Honestly.

I trudge over to the stream and start washing my face. I feel a nice tingling as the cold water trails down slowly. How refreshing.

After my smooth, glowing, and blemish-free (a.k.a perfect) skin is scrubbed clean of green blobs, I try to flatten my hair with water. It works a little, but I rather have a brush or a comb.

When I turn back around, I notice Saige's outfit for the first time. Whoa. She's wearing almost complete winter gear: black winter jacket (not the one with the fur; this one's actually for the snow), scarf, gloves, and boots.

She notices my gaze and smiles. "I was about to make a snowman with my little cousins when it sent me here."

I look at Boromir. He is too far away to hear our nice little conversation. Good. I turn back to Saige and raise an eyebrow. "What do you mean by _it_?"

"The ring," she replies seriously. "The ring that strange man gave to us in the cafe." She holds up her hand and shows me her silver ring. "See the stone? It was crystal clear, like a diamond, when it was given to me, but after being...um...sent here, to _Middle-earth_, it turned into light green."

I lean forward and look at the ring. She is right. How can this be? Did she buy a new one just to play prank on me? Silently, I look down at my own hand.

My ring has turned into light green as well. Okay. This is so…weird.

I want out. Seriously. I want to wake up nooooow. Maybe if I start hitting myself I will wake up in my room.

"Breann! _Breann!_ What are you _doing_! Stop hitting yourself!"

I glare at her, then put my hand down. I wasn't even hitting my cheek _that _hard, though it _is_ stinging a bit. I turn and look at Boromir, standing at a distance. He is looking directly at me, and the expression on his face is a mixture of curiosity, terror, and wariness. I glare at him, then turn back to Saige.

"My cheek hurts a bit," I say bluntly.

"Well…um…yeah," she says awkwardly. "You were kind of…hitting yourself."

I roll my eyes. "It means I'm not dreaming."

She shoots me a weird look. "I thought you already settled that the moment Gimli knocked you out. Or, the moment you splashed water on your face."

Okay. That comment _does_ make sense, but I refuse to agree with her. Too many people always agree with her, and that is just so infuriating. I'm not going to be one of _them. _

"So…are you saying that these _stupid_ rings sent us to…Middle-earth…?"

She suddenly looks sheepish. "Well, even though it seems very unbelievable, y-yes…I think so."

Silence.

More silence.

Then I break it. By laughing. Hard.

Saige stares incredulously at me as I clutch my aching sides. I keep laughing, even though I realize that there's nothing funny about this. I should either be bawling or be speechless. Bawling because I'm officially mental or speechless because the news is just so damn BIG.

"Um…Breann? I don't understand why you're laughing."

I sober up. Count on stupid Saige to ruin the mood. "I don't either," I say coolly, "but I have the right to do whatever I want, got it?" I then stare dreamily at the sky and put a pensive look on my face. "Hmm…since this is extremely strange to me, I shall pretend that this is still a dream," I announce.

She looks at me weirdly. For maybe the hundredth time this day. "All right…you do that," she says uncertainly. "Anyway…um…we better get back."

I roll my eyes. "Excited, are you? Can't wait to get back to your Legolas?"

Saige blushes. I stare at her in amazement. She's actually _blushing _over a cold and arrogant git? No…that is just wrong. Just no… Unless his looks are the cause of her bashfulness, and _not_ his oh-so-wonderful personality. If that's the reason, then I understand, I guess. But unlike her, I will _not _result to flaming cheeks just because his eyes are extremely blue and his hair freakishly silky and golden.

Just no.

"He's handsome, isn't he?" she whispers as we approach Boromir.

I roll my eyes. "Very," I say, nodding curtly at Boromir (who shoots me a weird look, then turns and leads the way), "no doubt you'll win his heart in a few days or so."

"Oh, stop, Breann," she says quietly. "That's impossible. He's an Elf. Elves can't fall in love with people like us."

I snort and roll my eyes. "Well, who knows?" I say wryly. "You might be a long-lost elf princess of an unknown kingdom, who secretly has magical powers. Or something like that." I then grin at her sinisterly, which makes her fidget. "As for me," I say, "I'm going to make Legolas and the others look like a bunch of sissies. You do know that they're no match for me when it comes to fighting?" I look at her sharply, daring her to disagree.

She doesn't. She just smiles shakily and nods.

Good decision.

Isend her a piercing lookand then walk ahead, brushing past Boromir on purpose. I sense him glare fiercely at the back of my head, so I respond by flipping my hair dramatically, in a "like I care about _you_" way.

He huffs indignantly, which causes a big smirk to appear on my face.

It really _is_ fun to be the superior one.


End file.
